The Venus Bird

What does she want, the Venus Bird,

Tip of the tyrant’s tongue,

Beat of the heart that barely stirs

Sip of the song, unsung,

Soul of the loved, unwanted one.

 

Where does she go, the Venus Bird

Drifts in a cobweb sigh,

Settles in silks and velvet dreams

The spark of a lover’s eye,

Or waits for the mood to pass her by.

 

What does she do, the Venus Bird,

Cry at the morning tide,

Wave to her love at the open door,

Such emptiness inside,

The Venus Bird once more denied.

 

David Lewis Paget